Changing
by CalicoKitten
Summary: After Fudomine's matches with Rikkai, Kamio thinks of the changes that are occurring.


Disclaimer:  Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi.

Author's Notes:  I really should not have written this fic.  Not at all, with finals coming up and a paper due on Friday which I haven't even started yet.  But, it was in my head, and it managed to get written in much less than a day.

Changing

By CalicoKitten

At that moment, everything had changed.

Kamio wasn't stupid enough to lie to himself about it, to say that everything would be back to normal in a week or so.  It just didn't seem right.

Then again, nothing would ever be the same.

So he walked through the hallways, avoiding the glances turning his way as his cd player ran and his headphones blared loud music straight into his ears.  He knew what they thought.

And it made him angry.

It wasn't his fault that the new, questionable tennis team surpassed everyone's expectations, winning a spot as the underdog at Nationals.  It wasn't his fault that no one at the school went to see the team's match against Rikkai, yet was still willing to buy into the rumors surrounding it.  It wasn't his fault that they had lost so badly and reinforced the statement that Fudomine's entry into the competition might have been a mere fluke.  And it certainly wasn't his fault that Tachibana-san…

Yes.  It wasn't his fault about that, either.

He bowed his head down low, pretending as if the music absorbed him, as it always did.  Today felt different, however.

Kamio couldn't feel the rhythm well at all.

The realization of it disturbed him, and he nearly walked into a person due to his lack of attention.  He ignored this person completely, turning to walk past him, not wanting to apologize if the other wasn't going to as well.

Glancing up briefly, Kamio caught the look that the other gave him and wanted to stick his tongue out childishly at him.  But, he didn't really feel like it, and the tennis team's reputation was sullied enough without its vice captain getting involved in a fight in which he got his ass handed to him.

Speaking of which, Kamio knew he was incredibly late for tennis practice when he peered up at one of the many black and white clocks that adorned the otherwise empty hallways of the school.  He thought he had more time, though.  Eyes jumping to his wristwatch, he noticed that the digital display appeared blank.

Slight unease worked its way up his body, and Kamio muttered curses under his breath.  It was great, just great.  The one time he needed to arrive at practice early, fate decided to side against him and stop his watch.

Not content to sulk in silence, he shot a death glare at the next person that gazed at him strangely.  Kamio sped up his pace, wanting to make it soon to practice, though he was already extremely late.  If Tachibana-san was here, he would scold Kamio to the point of no return.

He wasn't there, though, so Kamio didn't run.  Running would only give people more reason to label him as a crazed lunatic, anyway.

He arrived at the tennis locker rooms in five minutes due to the heavy traffic throughout the school.  Opening his locker, he stole a quick peek to his right, imagining the spot where Tachibana-buchou would be unloading his own tennis gear.

Kamio suddenly wished he was at Rikkai at that moment, so he could flatten Kirihara with the hard edge of his tennis racket.

He liked to think of himself as one who upheld his responsibilities, however, so he instead took the racket that he thought of decking the Rikkai player with and gently placed it on the bench.  Grabbing his white towel and his water bottle, he shut the door lightly, gathering up his things and moving over to stand in front of a plain closet.

He had never had to open it before.  Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the keys that could unlock the closet door and paused before lifting an arm to open it.

His hand shook as the key drew nearer, and he silently berated himself for it.  Shoving the key into the lock as if his life depended on it, Kamio quickly turned it and flung open the door.

Musty odor greeted him.  Kamio coughed faintly as he waved his hand to blow the smell away, despite the fact that it was relatively useless to do so.  He peered into the closet.

The school lacked little in the tennis area, he admitted to himself.  Rackets lined the back of the storage area, and crates of tennis balls stood side by side against the walls.  Kamio dumped his own equipment into one crate, taking the handle of it and dragging it out.

It was one of those tasks that he wished he had Ishida's strength for.  He managed to get it out of its confined space somehow, and he shut the door immediately, locking it from the outside and replacing the key back into his pocket.

Kamio groaned loudly as he eyed the large crate of yellow-green tennis balls.  It was a mystery how Tachibana-san succeeded in taking the crates out at each practice. 

He wasn't Tachibana-san, however.

Instead, he decided to just bring one out to the team, and if they needed another, he would go back inside with Ishida to carry more out.  There was no use in becoming tired before tennis practice even began, anyway.

Kamio settled on pushing the crate to the door leading outside, briefly wondering if there were other crates inside that actually had wheels underneath, and if he was just unlucky enough to choose one in which there were none.

He dismissed that thought.  It would just be too depressing if there were rolling crates.

Shoving it towards the courts, he wondered how the others would react at his sudden presence.  Would they be happy to see him?  Or would they be sad, seeing as their captain currently lay in the hospital room due to his last match?

Kamio sighed, his hand moving down instinctively to find his headphones and put them on.  When he grasped empty air, he realized it was because he had decided to leave them in his locker.

It wouldn't do well at all for the vice captain to be listening to his music during practice.  It was ironic.

He squinted at the sudden ray of light that seemed to strike him maliciously in the eye, and he spotted the closeness of the chain-linked fence in front of him.  Maneuvering the tennis balls to just outside the entrance of the courts, he steeled himself to face the rest of his teammates and to enter.

He, Kamio Akira, was just being silly.

He hadn't done anything wrong.  There was just no reason for him to be apprehensive about going to practice.  It was just practice.

But it was a practice without Tachibana-buchou.

He shivered slightly as he thought back to that match.  Watching Tachibana-san being carried off by a stretcher, it was almost painful to remember.  The older boy had done everything in his power to carry them to the nationals, and it had hurt to see him like that.

Kamio shook his head forcefully to clear himself of the image, of his captain looking up at him from the stretcher with the eyes that knew so much.  It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to go to practice, to do what he had to do, without Tachibana-san.

He sighed again, clenching his jaw shut.  He remembered another day quite clearly.

It had been a shock to him when Tachibana-san asked him.  He couldn't quite believe it at first, but the expression on the older boy's face remained serious, as always.

_"Kamio.__  I want you to be my vice-captain."_

He'd been touched at how much the other trusted him, and believed in him, to ask him to be the vice-captain of the new tennis team.  He knew it shocked the others, though, at their captain's choice.  He'd always been a little hotheaded, but he was sure that if Tachibana Kippei believed that he would make a fine captain next year, he could handle the disbelief.

Raising his courage, he turned to look at the players on the clay, expecting to see the telltale blur of tennis balls crossing the courts, though he wondered vaguely why he could not hear them.

His brow furrowed in confusion and in slight irritation.

"What are you guys doing?!"

Kamio winced as his voice cut through the air harshly as he flung the door open roughly.  He hadn't really meant to shout.

Surprised faces turned towards him, and he knew he had caught his teammates – his friends – in conversation rather than tennis.  The talking stopped – or, at least in Shinji's case, quieted down – and he gave them a bewildered look.

Uchimura turned to face him, pulling his cap down over his eyes in a habit.  "We were just discussing something."

"Discussing what?" Kamio asked quickly, not bothering to see if Uchimura would expound on his statement before he asked.

"…and Kamio is here now, and he looks annoyed.  But then, when does he ever not look annoyed?"

Ishida ignored Shinji's mumbling and answered, "We're thinking about going to visit Tachibana-san in the hospital today."

"After practice, you mean?" Kamio questioned as he walked to the net, pulling tighter the rope that held the net upright.  "You guys aren't even dressed for practice right now.  How can you think of going?"

"…and my grip tape hasn't even come in yet.  I ordered it weeks ago…how long would it take to get here?  I mean, I have grip tape, but it isn't as good as the one Echizen won from me…"

"No," Mori replied, his voice carrying the simple word far.  "We want to go now.  Instead of tennis practice."

"…Did anyone even ask me if I wanted to go see buchou?  No?  Yes?  Well, maybe I just didn't hear them, and besides, I wouldn't really care anyway.  It would be nice to see Tachibana-san, though…"

"Shinji, be quiet," Kamio told him sternly.

"…interesting.  They're interesting.  Very white.  Well, most hospitals are white, anyway.  Maybe not all of them…"

"Shinji."

It was just a two syllable name.  But Kamio's tone of voice sounded different, familiar in a way, and everyone became quiet, including Shinji, who snapped out of his mutterings in response to the firmness of Kamio's voice.

Kamio's one visible eye was closed, the other seemingly more obscured by the dark red of his hair.  He spoke clearly, yet strongly.

"We're not seeing Tachibana-san today."

As expected, objections rose up, and from Sakurai and Mori especially.

"What are you talking about?!"

"Who are you to tell us what we can or can't do?!"

Kamio frowned at the choice of the other second-years' words, and he held a hand up to thwart them off, speaking in a tone that tolerated no argument.

"I said, we're not seeing Tachibana-san today, and that's that."

He continued when he saw that he had their full attention.

"This is our scheduled practice time.  Therefore, we are going to use it for at least the full amount of time."

Mori started to respond again, but this time, Sakurai put a hand on the other's shoulder, warning him off.

"You think I don't want to see Tachibana-san?  No, of course you don't.  But he was the one who made this team possible, who led us to Nationals.  Sure, it really sucks that we lost by so much, and I'm pissed off my ass about it, but what's going to happen next year when he's gone?"

He paused in his speech, nerves overtaking his sudden anger, and felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest.  Drawing in a breath, he brought his eyes up, looking at each member, each one of his friends, directly in the eye.  Ishida…Uchimura…Sakurai…Mori…Shinji…they would all be here next year.  But Tachibana-san wouldn't be.

"It'll be different next year, certainly.  But Tachibana-san would be disappointed in us if we didn't at least make Nationals next year.  He would be disappointed in us if we showed up at his hospital door, instead of being at practice today."

He stopped talking for a second then, walking over steadily despite his sentiments, and picked up his racket.  Reaching into the crate of tennis balls, he grabbed three, shoving them into his pockets.

He stood then, facing the rest of the team – his team – and spoke again.

"We're not going, and that's that.  And Mori, why can I tell you what you can and can't do?"

He hesitated slightly, unwilling to say the words because of what would come next.

"I can because…"

Kamio wavered slightly on the last word, but drew himself to say the words that would signify the necessary change.  He drew a deep breath in, squaring himself to say what he didn't want to say.

"Because right now, in Tachibana-san's stead, I am the acting captain.  And next year, I will be captain, so you damn well better do what I say now."

"…And what I say now is that Tachibana-san won't be expecting us today."

He drew his eyes across his team again, wondering if they recognized the importance of his speech.  It wasn't like him to get so adamant, except when his temper broke, and he questioned his actions almost immediately.

He couldn't stand the silence.  Turning his back on them purposefully, he addressed them, hoping that they would listen to him.

"Now, in five minutes, I expect to see you changed for tennis practice and out here on the courts.  Understood?"

Kamio didn't expect an answer, wanting instead to bury his face in his hands and vent out his frustrations, his worries.  No answer came, and he doubted himself yet again, hoping that his friends would soon head to the locker room.

He didn't want Tachibana-san to regret having chosen him as the next captain of Fudomine.

Allowing his hand to brush his hair back in fretfulness, he paused, waiting to see if Tachibana-san had been correct.

Silence continued, reigning for a brief period.  Then, ever so faintly, he heard the shuffling of feet heading towards the chain-linked door.

He looked up, at their retreating figures, and at the locker rooms in which they were headed.

"Ishida," he had to say.

The taller boy stopped walking, inclining his head to regard his acting captain.

"What?"

Kamio swallowed the lump in the back of his throat, the lump which had become all the more prominent as the day had progressed.

"When you come back, bring those tennis balls into the court."

Ishida paused, eyes wandering over Kamio as he pondered the actions of their temporary captain.

"…All right."

And he turned, heading back to the locker rooms, and Kamio allowed a breath of air to flow through him when he was certain they were out of earshot.  He slowly sank to the clay pavement, clutching his racket as though it could save him from a disastrous fate.

_Tachibana-san._

How he wished that the older boy, the one they all looked up to, was there to help him along.

He lowered his head to the ground for a moment, realizing that soon, he would have to get up and begin the practice with the others.  He wouldn't be running laps with them today.

It was all changing so fast; everything was different after Nationals.

…And he missed Tachibana-san.

He suspected that he always would, and was anxious about the change that would come with it.

He knew that the change could be good or bad, but he was scared anyway.

Scared of which direction he would lead it.

It was silly, really.

To be scared of such an important thing.


End file.
